


Rest

by archi



Series: By Grace, We Are Saved [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, season 8 finale speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 01:58:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/780460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archi/pseuds/archi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean let out a hollow bark of a laugh, “You haven’t seen yourself yet, but believe me, it ain’t pretty. Hospital.”</p><p>Part of  By Grace We Are Saved verse. Sam POV. Takes place directly after Sacrifice/The Way/Tenderness</p><p>Note: <b>This verse reads as one continuous story</b> Some sections overlap as told from different pov.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rest

Cas was gone, and it was then that Sam let himself fall. He was tired, and aching and his head pounded from the wind and exhaustion. He drooped into the overgrown grass, and Dean crumpled after him.

“Sammy?” he heard Dean, but his eyes were closed already.

The ground shook more violently than ever but this was so much easier than standing. The pain of the trials - the constant uneasiness that hummed just under his skin, draining him for months - it was dull in the wake of everything. He’d done it...now it was just up to Cas.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” he said. The wind wasn’t so strong when it was only brushing the top of him.

He felt Dean shake his head against Sam’s shoulder.

“We need to get out of here, Sam. Cas said...” Dean’s voice caught, and Sam forced his eyes open.

His brother was looking around, lost, “...he said it would blast, we need to -”

But then the pressure of the air, or maybe it was something in the wind, _something_ changed, and Dean threw himself over Sam, right as the the world was torn in two.

An undefinable pressure that had little to do with the wind tore across the field, as if a great blade was separating the heavens and earth and Sam realized that Castiel must have done it. The pressure of the air climbed until he thought his eardrums would burst, and a great light spread and spread until he couldn’t keep his eyes open because it burned too white and hot. The humming under his skin rose and rose and perhaps he was imagining it but he thought he could feel little capillaries burst around his eyes and in his fingers and toes and lips and then suddenly - alarmingly - all was still. The light subsided, the wind ceased and left only erie calm.

Dean’s breathing registered against his shoulder and the rapid expanding and collapsing of his brother’s chest pushed comfortingly against him. No hum, no thrumming magic coursing through him, just...just Dean beside him.

And maybe Dean called out his name before Sam slipped into darkness.

…

He started awake, the rumbling beneath him throwing him back into the torrent field - until he recognized it as the steady purr of the Impala. He let his head fall back against the bench, throat dry and itchy.

Dean’s breath caught beside him and the car swerved.

It stopped suddenly and Dean was leaning over him, carefully turning his face. “Sammy, talk to me - how are you feeling? We’re on our way - gonna get you some help -”

Sam shook his head. “Don’t need it.”

Dean let out a hollow bark of a laugh, “You haven’t seen yourself yet, but believe me, it ain’t pretty. Hospital.”

“Dean...no. Just...just take me home, okay?”

“Sammy we’re going - we need to start getting you looked after - I don’t care if it’s the trials or a damn papercut - you’re overdue.”

Sam shook his head again, “Dean, it’s gone. I can feel it...it’s over. Just... tired. Just need to rest.”

Dean didn’t respond.

“Dean, I promise...felt it before...it’s gone now. Please, just drive.”

Another pause.

“If you’re lying I will kick your ass, little brother,” Dean moved back into the driver’s seat and they were moving again. “Still a bit to go - You okay for a few hours?”

“Yeah...just...Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“‘m sorry...”

“For?”

Sam tried to say _Cas_ , but he couldn’t make his mouth work. Couldn't say it. Couldn't admit it...Couldn’t be the first one to make it real...not yet...so he closed his eyes. Dean wouldn’t push if he thought Sam was sleeping. Or maybe Dean would figure it out.

Either way it was going dark again.

…

Sam woke up a few more times over the next few hours, though it didn’t feel like any time passed in between. As if he closed his eyes and opened them again the next second. But the sky was just a bit darker every time...he didn’t say anything, just looked blearily over at his brother or out the window.

The mile markers were blurry as they passed.

Sometimes the road was smooth and he dozed.

Sometimes the asphalt was cracked and badly patched up - he didn’t see it so much as feel it as his insides jostled angry.

He blinked again and found it nearly dark, the radio hummed quietly, and he pulled his arms up, lifting his shoulders and pushing the palms into the seat to straighten a little. Everything protested - muscles and bones and skin but it was all his body...just his body.

“Just a bit longer,” Dean said, glancing over quickly, “How’re you feeling?”

Sam blinked hard and exhaled through his nose, shaking his head a little. His skin felt oddly tender. He reached up and touched his face, immediately pulling back his hand and hissing slightly at the sharp pain.

“I told you man, you look bad - one big black eye,” Dean sounded strained. “You’re sure it’s over?”

Sam nodded, “...yeah.”

Sam wondered if he’d ever hear Dean _not_ worried about him.

He turned his head gingerly, blinking again and waiting for his eyes to adjust onto his brother’s face.

Dean was...if it hadn’t have been for the occasional blink, the slight movements of the steering wheel...he looked _not alive_. His eyes were dull and unseeing, the way he held the steering wheel - not like Dean at all - like it wasn’t the car he’d driven his whole life, like he was just a robot programmed to know the Impala’s subtleties but there was no relationship there...Sam couldn’t quantify it but it was wrong.

Sam didn’t say anything. Occasionally Dean looked over, a spark of strain and concern lighting for just a moment before it fell again, leaving this lifeless, Dean-shaped thing beside him.

Sam wondered distantly if he’d been swapped out for some monster, but the brief moments of life comforted him slightly. Dean’s unrelenting concern for him was something he knew too well to not recognize the counterfeit. 

He sighed, fighting the urge to rub his hand over his face because he knew it would hurt like hell.

Some light at the end of the tunnel, huh?

Too bad the light had been Castiel’s exploding grace.

The hurt hit him in a way unrelated to muscle and bone and nerves....just emptiness. Suddenly his brother’s state made a lot more sense. Dean had been sitting here alone for hours with only a limp brother and memories of his best friend’s death for company.

A thought occurred to him, hypocritical and radical because all _he_ wanted was a good beer or five, but it put its foot down firmly in Sam’s mind. _I’ve got to get all the alcohol out. All of it. Tonight._

Or Dean would lose himself in it. Sam would lose Dean, and it didn’t matter who else loved Dean, or how they told him or what they did, Dean wouldn’t stop once he got the first drop. He’d drink himself to sleep every night and... _no_.

Not again. Not this time.

He’d have to be fast. It would be the first thing Dean went for. 

An anger sparked in his chest. Stupid son of a bitch. Castiel saved them all at the first thing Dean would do - how he’d celebrate the world _not_ ending again - would be to drown himself.

Dammit. 

Sam tried to stay relaxed. Tried not to clue Dean into the itch in his fingers. There was nothing he could do until they got back to the bunker. So Sam breathed deeply, and exhaled, marvelling again at how sore and tired and _himself_ he felt.


End file.
